In theory, I love a good mustache. Mustaches are hilarious and cute. I love seeing them on coffee mugs and t-shirts and the recent trendiness of mustaches is something I fully support and mostly adore. I love cats with mustaches, I love mustache salt and pepper shakers and I know I’ve pinned a whole handful of mustache related items on Pinterest.
My love of mustaches stops, however, the moment one decides to grace the face of my husband.
See, Andrew decided to grow a mustache after my last visit, mostly because he can and because I’m not around to spend all day and all night cursing at him about it. In the beginning, when it was just a baby mustache, he didn’t tell me about it. But then it started to get noticeable and now, each and every time we FaceTime, I can see it and it’s not okay.
I love my husband, more than I could even begin to explain, but on Friday when he sent me a photo of his brand new Alabama concealed handgun permit, complete with a photo of his mustached face, I lost my shit a little bit, because seeing the face of your once-handsome husband ruined by a strip of reddish blonde man-fur is not the sort of shit I’m well-equipped to deal with, especially not while in the midst of conducting some early birthday shopping for the man.
The thing about blondes, like my husband, is that they just shouldn’t have mustaches. Also, the thing about the Army is that it’s really, really strict about what mustaches gracing the faces of Soldiers can look like and it really only leaves the option for scary-ass, child-molester-esque mustaches.
All this to say, my husband shouldn’t have a mustache and so help me, if it’s still on his face when I visit him in two weeks, I’m going to shave it off in his sleep and make him eat it.
But still. Later that day as I was walking with a friend, we passed by a window displaying what she rightly named a “Mustache Garden” and I couldn’t help but take a picture of one of the mustached mustaches in the garden because really, mustaches are cute and adorable and funny and I really do love them, just not when they’re attached to my husband’s face.